Ooh, what a bitch

There's something I need to get off my chest. From time to time my job involves subediting news stories derived from the meaningless effluent so-called celebrities (sorry to turn this into a semantic argument, but find me someone who celebrates these people, I defy you) will say in interviews or sign up for just to get a few column inches.

As most of this passes before my eyes it prompts nothing more than a shrug, a disbelieving frown or even the odd, slightly camp, cast of my eyes to the heavens. But sometimes I feel the bile rise up inside me. Here's a selection of some of things I've found myself saying, out loud, this week:

Cheryl Cole on her surprise that Victoria Beckham didn't support her when her she found out her husband was cheating on her or something: "we've had barbecues together."

What I said: "How do you barbeque Diet Coke and cigarettes?"
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Pete Wentz saying that people who sell pictures of their new-born babies to the press are "strange". His child with singer/actress/big pair of tits Ashlee Simpson is named Bronx Mowgli.

What I said: "In which case, what does that make people who name their first-born after New York boroughs and feral monkey-children from popular literature?"
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And finally, my response to Madonna's new advertising campaign for Louis Vuitton, in which she reclines with legs open and knickers on display: "The Sun's likely headline: 'Show us yer Madge'."